


my versailles at night

by aliciaxadrienne



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, Summer Romance, Unhappy Ending, little bit of muke at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciaxadrienne/pseuds/aliciaxadrienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>little flings like these are michael's forte. he knows exactly how to get the heartbeat of anything with a pulse beating so fast that said thing with a pulse immediately falls into his lap, begging for attention that he's oh-so-ready to give them, at least for a few weeks. </p>
<p>or: three excerpts from one of michael's many conquests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my versailles at night

**Author's Note:**

> i don't really know why i wrote this, i just really love mashton and there isn't enough fic for them, so i wrote this little, sort of angsty thing.  
> inspired by fourth of july by fall out boy.

Michael has always loved fireworks.

Ask anyone who knows him and they would all say that it’s just part of his child-like personality, the infatuation with bright colors bursting and escalating before disintegrating into nothing, soon to be forgotten as the next bigger and brighter display explodes.

But he thinks there’s a deeper meaning behind it, especially recently.

Michael has always been okay with having little flings. Doesn’t matter who with. He’s never been particularly into long-term relationships, is the point. 

So when he meets a giggly, curly-haired guy that reminds him of summertime, Michael instantly falls in love (or his version of love, which lasts for a few weeks and overwhelms him completely, but means nothing afterwards) until he feels like he’s floating.

They’re at a carnival, of course, because what could possibly be more stereotypically fitting than meeting at that stupid game where you throw rings onto bottles. Michael already has a plan in his head when he walks by for the third time, watching curly throw his head back laughing as he misses, yet again.

He slithers his way through the very small crowd that has lined up for another, more popular booth game and finally stands next to curly, who hasn’t noticed his presence yet. Of course, because he’s got far more important things to focus on. But that’ll change real soon, Michael knows.

There’s nothing more intriguing than a guy with dyed lilac hair wearing a leather jacket expressing interest in taking you out on a date. Or at least that’s what Michael’s been told in the past (the color of his hair depends on the month, though, so that part of the intrigue changes pretty regularly.)

Curly accepts defeat after the proprietor of the booth informs him and his entourage that he’s just lost for the third time, and Michael recognizes his opportunity as soon as the look of disappointment flutters over his new target’s face.

“It’s a shitty game anyway,” He says, as soon as Curly looks at him, and Michael throws an accusatory glare at the proprietor, who has already latched onto the attentions of a twelve year old girl holding three balloons. “They do all kinds of crazy shit so you have no chance of winning and just end up wasting all your money.” He smiles his most car-salesman worthy look towards Curly, a grin that says _trust me, i know what i’m talking about, i’ve sold this type of thing a million times._

Curly looks surprised for a moment, and Michael worries that he went for the wrong approach. Maybe this guy was more into accidently getting a drink spilled on him as the start of his summer romances.   
Or maybe he’s straight.

Nah, no straight guy would be that surrounded by girls without having a possessive arm around at least one of them.

“Right, well, it was just meant to waste some time,” Curly says, casting his eyes towards the ground. The girls around him filter off, presumably to go hang over another one of their gay best friends.

“You played it three times!” Michael laughs, and Curly uncomfortably joins in, throwing a hand over his embarrassed eyes.

“Let me help you earn some of that money back with stupid prizes,” Michael gently goads, ready to accept no for an answer but not ready to move on regardless of the response he gets. His straightforwardness tends to work on everyone in the long run. 

“Um.. okay, thanks..” Curly responds, looking questioningly at Michael’s shirt, as if to look for a name tag. 

“Michael!” He introduces himself quickly, “and I don’t work here, I’m just trying to be nice.”

Curly narrows his eyes. So he’s not an idiot then, knows that guys are never nice to just be nice. But he doesn’t back down, at least not yet.

“Ashton.” Curly gives up his name, finally. 

At the end of the night, Ashton has all the stuffed animals he can fit in his arms, and Michael has a phone number scribbled on his arm.

Hook, line, and sinker. The fireworks are exploding.

\------------------------------

Three weeks later, Ashton asks Michael if they’re dating.

He’s been waiting for a surefire sign, and Michael knows this. He’s been playing it cool with this one specifically because of how attached he feels personally. It’s foreign and gross and Michael hates it.

But he gives Ashton what he wants.

“Yeah,” he answers, and in the same breath, “Do you wanna come to band practice today?”

“Band practice?” Ashton asks, playing with the individual strands of Michael’s hair. Somehow, they ended up curled into each other on the couch at Ashton’s place, a nameless crime film playing in the background.

“Yeah, I just started a band with Luke and Calum,” Michael closes his eyes, relaxation covering him like a warm blanket, “a few months before we met, actually.”

Ashton’s legs shift, and one of them is thrown cautiously over Michael’s hip. “What do you call yourselves?” His fingers massage into Michael’s scalp, who sighs at the contact.

“5 Seconds of Summer.”

“But there’s three of you.” Ashton giggles, and Michael looks up at him.

“There could be four of us,” Michael starts, and as expected, Ashton’s fingers catch themselves in his hair. “You play the drums, I remember you telling me at the carnival when we were stuck at the top of the Ferris wheel.”

“I could never, you know I’m not that good, and I’m not good with people either-” All the words rush out at once, and Michael gets concerned that the poor boy is about to have an anxiety attack.

“It was just an idea, fuck,” he mumbles.

Twenty minutes later, Ashton ushers him out, claiming he has a ton of chores to get done before the sun sets.

\------------------------------

“Michael, with a chai latte?” Their server says, and Michael playfully rolls his eyes at Luke from across the table, tearing his hands away from the blonde’s in order to grab his latte. He looks up into the eyes of the Starbucks employee and a wave of guilt goes through him.

Ashton.

They haven’t seen each other in months, not since Michael broke it off. 

Ashton looks good, of course. He always has, but this guy standing in front of Michael’s fourth date with the cute blonde that walked into a record store and tried to buy the same album Michael wanted, months before they eventually started a band together, looks so much better than he ever did when they were dating.

His hair is longer, which of course was to be expected, because that’s all he ever talked about, but it’s only a little straighter than it used to be. Those pretty green eyes are just as sparkly as they always were, although right now they have a glint in them that makes it pretty clear Ashton’s not here by choice. And his muscles are much more defined than they were six months ago.

“Ashton,” Michael answers, breathlessly, tries not to make it obvious that he’s in genuine shock.

“Hi, Michael, here’s your chai latte,” Ashton says coolly, in a voice that is too formal compared to the ecstatic giggles Michael remembers. He places the coffee down on the table, completely ignoring Michael’s outstretched hand. He’s doing it on purpose, cruelly ignoring any form of physical contact. It’s a punishment Michael knows he deserves, but he wasn’t expecting.

“And Luke, here’s your peppermint hot chocolate.” Luke smiles gratefully at Ashton, clueless to the tension Michael wants to break.

“Anything else I can get you?” Ashton asks, tone bordering on robotic. Michael sees him clench his fingers around the cloth of his apron, a clear sign of frustration.

Michael takes a deep breath, looks at Luke, who is opening his mouth to say that everything is great. And he knows he should just let it happen, should let Ashton go back to his shift and leave him and Luke to laugh about something that happened at band practice that won’t be funny anymore. But, fuck, that’s not what he wants, and Michael’s always been one to go for what he wants, regardless of what’s actually best.

He lets Luke talk anyways, doesn’t hear what he says because his heartbeat sounds so loud in his ears, but Ashton walks away as soon as there’s a dismissive silence.

“You okay?” Luke asks, a little smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I’m fantastic.” Michael wraps his hands around his latte, desperate to feel warmth that won’t make him feel like the worst person on earth.

“He was cute,” Luke absently remarks, tracing his fingers along an imaginary pattern on the table.

Michael feels his muscles tense against his own will. “What do you mean by that?” He asks, carefully.

Luke raises his eyebrows. “Nothing, just an observation, Jesus,” he looks Michael in the eyes and reaches across the table to brush some hair off of his forehead. “Didn’t take you to be the jealous type.”

“I’m not!” Michael defends himself. He’s never felt jealous a day in his life, especially not when it comes to exes. “Just.. aren’t you curious how I knew his name?”

Luke doesn’t look away from Michael, but his eyebrows crinkle again as he takes a sip of his hot cocoa. “We’re at Starbucks, Mikey, every employee has a name tag.”

Michael cringes at his own idiocy. “Oh.” 

“Is there anything I need to know?” Luke holds one of Michael’s hands in his, tilts his chin up so they’re looking each other in the eyes. 

“Nope.”

“Alright..” Luke lets their hands separate. “You wanna get out of here?”

Michael looks over at the counter, watches Ashton giggle as one of his co-workers trips and nearly face plants.

“Yeah.”


End file.
